


I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me

by thoughtswhilstdrinkingtea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, M/M, Marauders' Era, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtswhilstdrinkingtea/pseuds/thoughtswhilstdrinkingtea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is facing him now, eyebrows pulled together in a pained frown, “You know that I love you?”<br/>“Yeah. I know,” Remus leans back into the sofa and looks down at his hands, “I love you too.” And he does, and he won’t ever be able to stop loving him, even if this whole mess tears him apart. If he could fall out of love as easily as he’d fallen into it, then maybe the silence of the flat and finding the other side of the bed empty wouldn’t hurt as much.<br/>'Of course I love you. Not that it changes anything,' He thinks, knowing in the glances they share that it doesn’t need to be said out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as pretty much me writing what I headcanon went down between Remus and Sirius in the days leading up to Halloween, and it became this. I've tried to keep it relatively compliant with the canon timeline, though obviously I'm writing about a technically non-canon relationship so there are changes.  
> I wish I could say this is angst with a happy ending. But. It's not.  
> All comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> Title is from Halsey's song Ghost.

On the day they move into the flat, it’s March, and it’s raining. They’ve only barely managed to get enough furniture together to call this place a home, a few chairs that don’t match, the bookcase from Remus’ room at his parents’ house, a cheap bed they found in a second hand shop, Sirius’ vinyl player, and countless containers of cake and frozen meals from Mrs Potter. It feels like a dream when Sirius closes the door behind them and kisses Remus in the middle of their living room, with the awful carpet and the old-fashioned wallpaper.

“I suppose you’ve made an honest man out of me after all, Moony,” Sirius says later that evening, as they eat reheated lasagna sat on the floor, nudging Remus’ feet with his own and barely suppressing a grin.

Remus gives an undignified snort, “I doubt that.”

“Oh yeah?” They pour champagne into plastic tumblers, and toast to every wonderful think they can think of- Quidditch and Led Zeppelin, Mrs Potter’s cooking and Sirius’ uncle Alphard.

“Your lips,” Remus declares when they’re over half way through the bottle, leaving his glass next to his empty plate and kissing Sirius clumsily.

“Fucking- You’re so corny,” Sirius mumbles, and maybe it’s the champagne but Remus has forgotten how not to smile. Sirius lifts his own glass with a grin, “I can’t believe I’m in love with such a sentimental prick.”

James and Lily and Peter join them the next day, and Lily and Sirius argue over which music they should listen to, and when James is drunk he starts talking about how happy he is for them. In passing, they mention the war that is becoming increasingly difficult to avoid, but talk about it in the abstract, unworried tone of teenagers who haven’t been close enough to tragedy yet.

When they have the flat to themselves, they spend most of their time in their bedroom, not having to care about staying quiet or keeping half an eye on the door. In the afternoon, Remus sits in bed with a book, or writes articles for magazines that accept barely half of his work, and Sirius flicks through Muggle and Wizard newspapers, pointing out jobs and explaining to Remus how great he’d be at them. Sometimes Sirius draws, and Remus tries not to comment because Sirius refuses to admit that he’s talented, and gets embarrassed if anyone tries to insist otherwise.

Their kettle breaks on a daily basis, no matter how much they charm it.

The containers of food run out at some point, and they end up wandering around the streets for nearly an hour until they find a supermarket. Even then, shopping takes much longer than either of them had expected.

“What about this?”

“There’s only two of us,” Remus says, narrowing his eyes as Sirius gestures towards a large frozen chicken.

“So?”

“So, it’s expensive and we’ll be eating it for three weeks.”

As the months go by, they make the flat their own. With the help of all the friends they can find, they tear down the wallpaper and paint the walls lilac instead, because why the fuck not. They pull up the carpets and Lily falls in love with the floorboards. Peter brings them a huge, colorful rug that doesn’t match anything- but nothing does in this apartment, so it’s perfect. Posters find their way onto the walls, and Lily brings Remus dozens of potted plants, telling him it’s babysitting practice and smirking at how pale James’ face turns. Half of them wilt despite all the books he reads on horticulture and his desperate attempts to take good care of them.

Parts of their lives are no different from every other young couple in love and building their own lives for the first time. There are weeks when they only just manage to get by and find the money for food, Sirius makes Remus coffee in the mornings, and sometimes when they can’t sleep, they sit on the sofa Alice gave them and talk about all the things that they’ll do in the years to come. They spend evenings at the Potters’ and the Longbottoms’ houses, and get drunk on cheap wine, and complain about how hard it is to find jobs. They have a dining table now, and Sirius roles his eyes at the stacks of books and parchment that clutter it.

But gradually the front pages of newspapers becomes more and more dominated by deaths and disappearances, and in Diagon Alley, shops are selling charmed objects to offer protection. The evenings when they end up picking fights with Death Eaters become more common, the attacks more organized, full of strategy instead of just reckless bravery.  

They still spend nights at friends’ houses, but now the rooms are full of angry young people pointing aggressively at the newspaper headlines and demanding that something be done.

“The Ministry is _useless,”_ Marlene says with fire in her eyes, as Dorcas watches, captivated.

Sirius leans against the wall with a forgotten, unlit cigarette in his hand, “Hey, they’re trying their best,” He says sarcastically, mockingly. Remus elbows him in the ribs. Later when they’re walking home, hands clasped together and their breath turning white in the night air- the days are getting colder again- Remus looks at Sirius and is hit by the realization of how lucky he is, that there’s a war on and of course he’s afraid but he’s also so _happy._

“So, we’re gonna save the world, huh?” He says with a grin, not imagining that the novelty of it will wear off quickly.

“Or go down fighting,” Sirius replies, and Remus can’t tell whether he’s joking.

Remus’ mother tells him she thinks he’s too young to be settling down, and Remus laughs and reminds her that James was only just out of school when he married Lily. Strangely, that doesn’t seem to comfort her.

James and Lily had tied the knot on a cold January day, and Remus had wondered whether Lily was pregnant, but didn’t dare to ask her. He tipped a bucket of confetti over James’ head, Sirius over enthusiastically complimented all the awful hats, and Peter was blinking or looking in the opposite direction in all of the photos. Both Sirius and James broke their promises not to cry through their speeches- Lily and Remus shared exasperated, yet affectionate, eye rolls across the room whilst their boyfriends shared what must be the twelfth hug of the day.

“I have exactly zero regrets,” Peter said after his third slice of cake, and Remus wondered whether he knew that he was wearing Lily’s mother’s hat. He watched Dorcas with her hand on Marlene’s thigh, leaning in to giggle at something, and though he was happy for them, he cursed when he realized that he owed Sirius five knuts.

The band was bad, but got away with it because they played songs that everyone knew. Remus found the best man deep in conversation with Mr Potter Sr, both of them very emotional and more than a little tipsy, and took Sirius’ hand. “Fancy a dance, love?”

“Maybe some other time, Remus,” James’ dad had said sincerely, “My wife gets jealous,” And he spotted some other relative across the room who he hadn’t spoken to yet and left them looking a little perplexed.

Sirius squinted, looking over Remus’ shoulder, “What’s Peter doing?”

“Trying to balance spoons on his face.”

“He’s not very good at it.”

“Neither are you.”

“No,” Sirius pulled Remus to the crowd in front of the band, leaning forwards to make himself heard, his breath warm on Remus’ cheek, “But I’m great at dancing.” And he is, except Remus is awful and entirely uncoordinated and fell over when Sirius tried to spin him, and Sirius was laughing so much that he crashed into someone’s great aunt, and they were both subjected to at least a ten minute long lecture.

They were both rather drunk when Sirius wrapped his arm around him and said, “I’m going to marry you someday, you know.”

Remus reckoned that was unlikely, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell him. “Now, that’d be something.” And Sirius winked and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

And despite all the critical glances that day, all the whispers about how it would never last, James and Lily have settled into their blissful domestic life with ease, have bought a house with a garden and have curtains that match their sofa, and the thought of them not being this in love forever is ludicrous. Remus tries to tell his mother this, but he knows she thinks it’s different with him and Sirius.

When the full moons come around, they Apparate to an abandoned farm that used to belong to Lyall’s brother. In the early days, James and Peter come too, but soon enough it’s just Remus and Sirius. They curl up together afterwards back in the flat, and Sirius makes more cups of tea that is necessary and kisses him like he might break. And Remus tells him he’s being stupid and drags his into the bedroom.

In the summer, on the days when they’re not confronting Death Eaters in back alleys, Sirius drives his bike out of town, Remus’ arms wrapped tightly around his waist, just for the sheer thrill of the road and sky stretching before them. And if they do end up running into a fight, they stand back to back and shout curses without thinking and Remus feels immortal.

Harry is born on a hot day at the end of July, and Remus tries not to feel too jealous when he’s not named godfather- secretly, he decides that this baby will end up preferring him to Sirius anyway.

Soon though, the world gets darker, and they’re too deep into this war before Remus really realizes. There are weeks when they spend more time following Death Eaters over the country than at home, and when they do make it back to their tiny flat they’re too tired to do anything but sleep. Sirius keeps secrets, and Remus tries to ask him but his boyfriend goes quiet and cold- maybe his family have been in touch, tried to get him to join Voldemort, but Remus can only guess.

Two years after they moved into the apartment, even though neither of them realize when the date comes around, they’re sitting on the rug with Harry. Well, Remus is sitting. Sirius curls up as a dog next to his godson, and Remus takes photos of Harry giggling as Padfoot licks his face. James and Lily come back late, looking haggard, tell him that they were attacked by Voldemort, that they don’t know how they’re alive.

Three weeks later, Marlene and her family are murdered. Dorcas goes after the Death Eaters that did it, and her body is found in a hotel room in Birmingham. After the funeral Sirius and Remus sit in silence, and Remus is all too aware that he is not immortal, not even a little bit.

James and Lily go into hiding after Dumbledore warns them of a prophecy that names Harry as a threat to Voldemort- it’s so ridiculous, that this tiny baby who laughs when Remus blows raspberries on his belly could ever be a danger to anyone.

And it’s Sirius who they choose as secret keeper. Of course it’s Sirius.

At night, Remus pulls his legs up to his chest, tries to make himself as small as possible, terrified for his friends, for Harry, for Sirius and all the things he keeps to himself. The days of school are a lifetime ago now, summers spent on the beach just a fading memory, and Remus longs for those years when his only fear was that people would find out about him- even that seems like such an insignificant worry. Not like lying awake at night wondering which of his friends will die next.  

People have stopped smiling at Remus when he goes to meetings. They whisper when they think he isn’t looking and avoid telling him anything important. James brushes off Remus’ questions about it- in fact, only Peter tells him not to worry, that people are just scared and stupid and that they’ll come around. He wishes he could believe him, but he knows that the Order are thinking of the articles about all the werewolves who have joined Voldemort, paragraphs condemning the whole species. And it’s Sirius that wounds him the most, not daring to confide in him, but even more afraid to admit that everyone else might be right about Remus.

The wizarding world is struggling to hold itself together. Remus sits in the rain waiting for a known spy to come out of the bar across the street, and asks himself how much longer this can last. He’s so weary, so filled with longing for this to end, for Sirius to stop avoiding Remus’ questions and looking so unsure when they kiss, that when the Death Eater steps outside Remus almost misses him.

And it all rushes past them, weeks and months and sunshine and rain, until it’s a few days before Halloween, and Remus wakes to find the other side of the bed empty and cold. Once, he would have been shocked, would have sat up and wandered into the living room to see if Sirius was reading, started to panic when he couldn’t find him. But these days, there is only a deep ache of acceptance that settles like a rock in his chest, and he doesn’t have to look around to know that Sirius has been gone for hours, and won’t be back until morning.

And he can’t tell which is worse, knowing that he isn’t trusted enough to know where his boyfriend is, or not knowing if he’ll come back at all.

Squinting at his watch, Remus sighs quietly at the late hour and debates whether it’s worth giving up on sleep entirely for the night, wondering whether he should just make himself a cup of coffee and wait for Sirius to come back.

He’s been tired for years. Another bad night won’t make a difference.

Except he’s so entranced by the vast space that stretches between him and the edge of the mattress, so painfully captivated by the sheets pulled carefully back into place, and Sirius’ smell clinging to it all, that he can’t bring himself to move. And he thinks of drowsy morning kisses that taste like sleep and urgently pulling each other into their room in the evening- such a novelty in the early days, _their_ home, _their_ room, _their_ bed- and kisses that were so full of desperation, and both of them tangled up in these sheets. Remus reaches out to Sirius’ pillow and traces a pale blue spiral, remembering how they’d both taken the piss out of these clichéd patterns, yet reveling in the joy of how entirely this belonged to them. The nights of being wrapped up in each other’s arms, or simply lying next to each other, comforted by the other’s mere presence and the steady sound of their breathing, seem infinite yet far too few.

There are never enough happy days, Remus decides.

A photo sits on the table at Sirius’ side of the bed, and though the room is too dark to see it properly, Remus knows that it shows the two of them at a Christmas party, taken nearly a year ago. Sirius has his arm around Remus, is leaning in to mutter some comment about how his hideous jumper would look better on their bedroom floor, and Remus is oblivious to the camera, and Sirius sometimes turns his head to smirk as James takes the photo.

Remus sits up, tiredness falling away from him, and knocks the photo to the floor with a thoughtless, outstretched hand. He stares down at the dark shake now lying on the wooden floorboards, visible only by the faint orange glow of the streetlamps outside. He supposes the glass must have smashed. And he just sits there, legs curled beneath him, fists clenched, goosebumps spreading across his bare arms, and he’s shaking- but whether it’s from the cold, or the despair that wells up inside him, he can’t tell.

Sirius returns some time the next day, when Remus is writing to Lily- he’s trying to find the words to explain how he feels, but it’s difficult when he can’t stop thinking about how life is for the Potters these days. And it’s nearly midday, later than it usually is if Sirius disappears in the night. Late enough to make him wonder, for his thoughts to spiral out of control as he imagines what could have happened, Sirius dropping his guard for a moment because he’s being too cocky, Sirius unable to defend himself against a curse, Sirius losing and dying and never coming back. It’s been an hour since Remus sat down with paper and a quill, and he’s written three sentences. His hands are trembling slightly. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hey,” Sirius says as he closes the door behind him, like it’s nothing. The shadows under his eyes are no darker than normal, and his hair is pulled back into a short ponytail because haircuts seem to be one of those things that have slipped their minds lately. He meets Remus’ gaze briefly before looking away and breathing onto his hands to warm them.

“Where were you?” Remus asks quietly, feigning slight disinterest.

“Ah, doesn’t matter,” When Remus narrows his eyes, Sirius shrugs and offers a half assed explanation about Alice calling, asking him to cover her shift because Neville was poorly. He wishes he could just believe it.

There’s so much distance between them these days. Even when Sirius kisses the top of his head on his way over to the kitchen, it feels staged. Remus can’t remember how to sit, or what to do with his hands and face, and not being entirely comfortable together feels foreign and wrong.

“You could have left a note,” Remus mutters bitterly, and his heart races a little.

Sirius grabs a few pieces of bread and leftover chicken from the other night. A pumpkin sits on top of the fridge- neither of them have gotten round to carving it yet. “I didn’t think I’d be gone so long,” He says, “You worry too much.”

“There _is_ a war on, you know.”

“Come on, it’s not like I was in any danger,” Sirius insists, and though his words should be accompanied by a taunting grin, a determined spark that beckoned anyone who dared to seize a chance to try and take him down, now he just snaps coldly, shoulders braced against Remus’ scrutinizing gaze.

“Why don’t you just trust me?” Remus asks. It’s the first time he’s dared to say it out loud, and he swears that he sees Sirius freeze for a moment.

“You know that it’s not that simple.” Sirius doesn’t turn around to look at him, his hands stay resting carefully on the counter. “I- We can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” He should let it go. One day, Remus thinks, all this will be over, all the fighting and the secrets, and they can go back to how they were before. But what if there’s nothing left of them? What if he lets Sirius drift away and it’s too late to do anything? “I mean, you could have been dead. But why should I care?” He says, and his voice is too cold, too harsh.

“Fuck off, Remus, that’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

Sirius is facing him now, eyebrows pulled together in a pained frown, “You know that I love you?”

“Yeah. I know,” Remus leans back into the sofa and looks down at his hands, “I love you too.” And he does, and he won’t ever be able to stop loving him, even if this whole mess tears him apart. If he could fall out of love as easily as he’d fallen into it, then maybe the silence of the flat and finding the other side of the bed empty wouldn’t hurt as much. Then Sirius is sitting next to him, and Remus sees too plainly that his cheekbones are sharper than usual, that he hasn’t shaved in a few too many days, that there’s barely a hint of a grin on his lips. Sirius reaches out and brushes his fingers- decorated with peeling black nail polish and silver rings- against Remus’ hands, and his touch is so delicate, so cautious, that Remus doesn’t know what to do.

 _Of course I love you. Not that it changes anything,_ He thinks, knowing in the glances they share that it doesn’t need to be said out loud.

“What have I ever done,” Remus says, his breath catching in his throat when Sirius looks at him as though the world is shattering around them, “To make you think that you can’t trust me?”

Sirius doesn’t flinch as Remus had expected. “I do trust you,” He says dully.

“That’s such-”

“Just leave it,” Sirius pleads. He brushes his thumb against Remus’ cheek and winds his fingers into his hair. Their knees are barely touching as they both sit with their legs tucked beneath them on the threadbare sofa. “Let’s not talk about this. Not right now.” He leans forward and kisses Remus chastely at first, and when Remus doesn’t pull back, more deeply, a clash of teeth and tongue, and his hands fumble with desperate urgency at the buttons of Remus’ shirt. He smells of leather and rain and Remus wraps himself round him with such ease, tugging him closer and his hands falling into place around Sirius’ waist. For a few moments, he forgets that Sirius lies with his back to Remus at night and doesn’t bring him coffee in the mornings.

But Remus stops, tears away, telling himself that there are thousands of other times- he’s never allowed himself to consider that there is such a thing as a last kiss- and Sirius’s expression goes blank, and he rests his forehead against Remus’ for a moment before he sits back, leaving a gap between them.

Remus lets his head fall into his hands and he tries to breathe steadily, tries to hold back the sobs that rise inside his chest like waves, and each time they break against him it’s a little harder to stay composed.

“I’m trying,” Sirius says weakly. ‘Trying’ to believe Remus. ‘Trying’ not to give up. ‘Trying’ to think rationally. ‘Trying’ to survive.

Not trusting himself to answer, Remus keeps sitting there, breathing, waiting for Sirius to offer something else. He doesn’t.

Eventually, Sirius stands and walks away, presumably to get his sandwich, or just to get away from Remus.

“You know,” Remus forces out the words, hating himself for them even as they leave his lips, “You think you’re so noble, so _good,_ but you’re no better than your parents.” The sound of Sirius’ footsteps stops, and the silence bears down on them. “Someone says traitor, and however much you try to deny it, you can’t help but immediately think ‘werewolf.’”

“What,” Sirius says darkly, “Did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, and maybe you should take it back.”

“It’s true though,” Remus continues, because now he can’t stop, “That it’s the only reason you can’t bring yourself to trust me these days,” His voice is getting louder, until he’s close to shouting, “Fuck, a few people start whispering about me and suddenly you realize you were an idiot for thinking a _werewolf_ could ever have good intentions.”

“Someone is passing information to You-Know-Who,” Sirius states. Utterly void of feeling.

“And it’s probably me, I get it.”

“It could be anyone, Remus! Any one of our friends could be betraying us, and we have no way of knowing who it is…” He shakes his head. Remus bites his nails. “It’s getting difficult, unsure of who we can believe. I want to trust you, I do.”

“But you can’t?”

Sirius’ silence is all the answer he needs.

“Why are you still here then?” Remus asks- he needs to know what Sirius is hanging on to, whether it’s enough for them both.

“Do you want me to go?Because _technically_ , we bought this place with my money, so I don’t really think it’s fair for you to ask me to leave.”

Remus forgets sometimes, that Sirius is a storm waiting to happen. “Your uncle’s money,” He corrects, aware that he’s being malicious and that it’s not fair, at times like this, for them to know each other so well.

“Whatever. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Sirius?” He stops and turns to look at Remus, eyebrows raised, “I just worry. When I wake up and you’re not here.” It feels like a confession, like he’s left himself vulnerable. Sirius opens his mouth, as though he’s going to say something, then decides against it and walks out of the room, sandwich still lying uneaten on the counter.

They sit in their flat that evening, surrounded by nearly three years of their life here. There’s a scorch mark on the floorboards from a game of exploding snap that went horribly wrong- James had bought the cards, and to this day Remus expects his friend was conned. Pots of mostly dead plants, books, and photographs sit on nearly every surface, and there’s a huge quilt, a gift from Marlene thrown over the back of the sofa. There’s too much to say, and not enough words, and neither of them know whether they should speak first. And, god, it’s so fucking unfair, that they love each other so much, have done for years, and they’re fighting in this war because neither of them can stand by and do nothing, and it’s breaking them.

That’s how Remus feels, broken. Like a pane of glass with cracks that ripple slowly from the center, and at any moment he’s going to shatter entirely.

Sirius looks up at him with a sigh, “Can you promise me that I can trust you? Completely?” There’s so much pain in his question, so much doubt.

“What?” Remus doesn’t know what to do, how to make his expression as innocent and faithful as he can, to fill his voice with assurance, even though he knows he has nothing to hide. Not really. He’s met with the other werewolves a handful of times, but he’s never _done_ anything, just lingered in the corners acquiring the scraps of information tossed around. “Of course you can, Sirius,” He pauses, expecting his boyfriend, to say something, to be comforted by Remus’ promise. “You still don’t believe me.” He says, meaning to phrase it as a question, but he’s so sure of what Sirius thinks that it’s just a statement of fact, really.

“Remus…”

“No. No- Just,” And all that sadness, that dull, hollow longing for the darkness to pass, it all turns to anger. After everything they’ve been through, all these years of friendship and love and Sirius actually thinks that Remus is capable of throwing it back in his face? Normally Remus does all that he can to lock up his anger, to be passive and understanding and fight the wolf inside him, but he doesn’t care anymore. So, Sirius thinks that all werewolves are the same? That they’re nothing but animals who pretend to be human when it suits them?

“I guess that you’re only battling prejudice when it’s convenient then? You-Know-Who targets Muggle borns, and of course we should protect them, because what have they ever done to deserve it?” He stands up, and he hadn’t noticed until now that these words have been spinning through his head for months, “But the Ministry of Magic passes countless laws that make living in their world virtually impossible for people like me, and that’s fine?”

“That’s different-”

“How?”

“Werewolves are dangerous!” Sirius blurts out, and Remus sees the regret pass across his face as soon as the words are hanging in the air.

“I deserve this then? Spending my whole life hating what I am, scared of people finding out, unable to do the job I want to do because they would never hire a _werewolf_ to be a healer. And once I think I have friends who accept me, all it takes is a bit of gossip and you realize that there are _no_ exceptions to what you know about my kind.”

“Stop it,” Sirius says, so quietly that he manages to make Remus feel ashamed for shouting. “You go places without telling us, you give us information without explaining to us how you know it- you have to admit that it looks suspicious.”

“Right, and you never go places without an explanation,” Remus exhales a huff of icy laughter, “I have _never_ considered that you might be a traitor, not for one second. Even though it would make sense- your whole family are supporters of You-Know-Who.”

“Wow, for a moment I thought that wasn’t going to end with an insult.”

“I was just- I was trying to say that I know you. And I would never think ill of you, no matter what anyone else said.” Remus tells himself that the emotion that flickers across Sirius’ features is guilt, but he can’t tell. Maybe he doesn’t know him as well as he thought. “I think I should go,” He says, and it hurts him so much to admit that this is the right choice, “For a few days.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Moony,” Sirius says as Remus turns towards the door, and it’s so cruel of him to use the nickname like this.

“Would you trust me more if you were able to keep an eye on me 24/7?”

“Remus…” Sirius says, “This is- Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. The Dark Lord will probably have a spare room for me,” Remus snaps thoughtlessly and storms out of the flat, slams the door behind him, hurries down the stairs, mind reeling, and steps out onto the street.

The days pass in a mostly incomprehensible blur, and he convinces himself that he’ll go back in a week or so, that he’ll apologize if he has to, that he’ll find some way, _any_ way to make Sirius believe him. It has to be worth it. _They_ are worth it.

He’s at Alice and Frank’s house when they hear about James and Lily, and when Dumbledore comes a few days later and tells him that it was Sirius who betrayed them. Peter’s dead too. Remus wants to scream, to run off a cliff and be blanketed by the cold water, to tear at every inch of skin that Sirius has ever touched and kissed. But he just sits there, lets the words like knives pierce his heart as Dumbledore ignores his pleas to allow him to take care of Harry.

“Petunia has a son too, she knows what she’s doing. He’ll be fine.” But she doesn’t know what she’s doing, how can Dumbledore think that? Petunia doesn’t know that Harry loves it when Remus spins him around the room as Sirius blasts Anarchy in the UK from his speakers. She doesn’t know that when he’s grumpy and he cries all she needs to do is stroke his hair and within a few minutes he’ll fall asleep. She doesn’t know that Harry hates banana and pajamas and loves bubble baths. How can she have any right to take care of him? It’s such fucking bullshit.

“Have you never heard Lily talk about her sister?” Alice says- her eyes are red and swollen with tears, “We have a son, we can look after Harry. At least we gave a damn about his parents!”

“They’re the only family he has.”

“Bollocks,” Frank says, and maybe they’re fighting so hard because they can see that Remus wants to, but he doesn’t dare to open his mouth and let all the pain rush out.

And he’s lost Harry too.

He can’t go back to the flat, not yet, not whilst he still feels raw and ripped apart. So he goes to a wizard pub in Leeds, because he never went to Leeds with Sirius, and sits at the bar drinking too much firewhisky. Everyone around him is still rejoicing, and he’s distant from it, separate, fading away.

“Cheer up, mate,” The bartender says, “We haven’t had much cause for celebration these past few years.”

Remus almost laughs, because it’s so absurd to be grateful that every good thing in his life is gone. “The Potters,” He says past the lump of grief and rage in his throat, “They were friends of mine.”

“Oh. Look, I’m sorry,” But everyone’s lost people in this war, and he’s no different from them, deserves no special sympathy. “Reckon you must have known that Sirius Black as well, then?”

“Yeah,” Remus swallows the last of his drink, and welcomes the growing numbness to his thoughts, “I knew him.”


End file.
